The Spirit of Hastings
Poem
By: Jim Gandolf
©️09302026WMA
Born of the Michigan soil, quiet and strong,
Where the roar of the engines belonged all along.
A craftsman of speed with a steadying hand,
He took on the fastest across all the land.
Through the brickyard of Indy, where history lies,
Under treacherous heat and turbulent skies,
In Seventy-Three, through the darkness and rain,
He earned him a victory heavy with pain.
Through hardship and heartbreaks that tests every man,
He stayed true to the passion where it all began.
Then Eighty-Two called for a duel at the end
Sixteen feet of margin, a race to defend.
Down the main straightaway, wheel-to-wheel to the line,
A masterpiece etched in the passage of time.
Two titles at Indy, a legend supreme,
A blue-collar hero who lived out the dream.
Though the checkers have fallen and silent the track,
The roar of his courage will never look back.
For those who were there and who watched him drive by,
The spirit of Johncock will never quite die.
Jim Gandolf
A fan of GJ. #20
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